


sick of being perfect

by plinys



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: 5 Times, Asthma, Bad Things Happen Bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 10:17:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: He’s going to fucking die here.In a school hallway, not a fucking sewer, he’s -“He’s having an asthma attack, jackass.”





	sick of being perfect

**Author's Note:**

> For my bad things happen bingo car technically, even though none of this is all that bad, but its for the "Asthma Attack" square

1

“How does it work?

“That’s my inhaler,” Eddie points out, stretching out to grab it back, only to have Richie pull his hand away at the last second. “Not a fucking toy.”

“Give it back to him,” Stan, the voice of reason and perpetually tired of Richie’s bullshit, chimes in. 

Not that Eddie needed the defense, but it’s a nice thought, and he shoots a thankful look Stan’s away, before reaching out yet again in an attempt to grab his inhaler back. 

Of course it’s only when Bill jumps in with a soft but pointed, “Richie,” that finally Eddie’s inhaler comes hurtling back his way. 

“Show me then,” Richie insists. “Unless you don’t know how.” 

“Of course, I know how to use my inhaler, I’m not a fucking idiot.” 

“Then prove it.” 

He shouldn’t.

He should insist that it’s wasteful to use his inhaler when he doesn’t actually need it.

There’s something about the way Richie is watching him. He’s been doing that a lot lately: watching Eddie. Eddie’s still not certain what to make of it, what it means when Richie’s gaze just  _ lingers  _ there on Eddie for far too long, and he’s not sure if he likes it yet either.

But this time he meets Richie’s gaze. 

“Pay attention,” Eddie says. “I’m only going to do this once.”

But he knows, he’d show them again and again, if only Richie was the one asking.

  
  
  


2

He knows now that it’s just a gazebo - or placebo, whatever - that there’s no actually benefit for breathing in whatever it is inside of his inhaler.

He knows this.

He does.

But in the face of almost certain death in the sewers. 

He can’t help but give himself just a little something to believe in, just for a moment. 

Just enough to kill this fucking clown. 

3

You would think saving the world would be something that people could know about or care about, but their success goes unknown by the world and when the summer is over it’s back to high school and he’s still one of the shortest kids in school, still with a fucking cast on his arm, and really Eddie knows he’s easy pickings. 

He’s never going to be popular. 

He’s accepted this fate. 

Maybe keeping his mouth shut would have been easier, but he’s never been good at resisting rising to the bait, not when it was from bullies, and not really from friends either.

But  _ fuck _ -

He’s lost the fight.

Given up at this point.

Bloodied and down and - 

There’s something about it, a bunch of guys surrounding him, a boot kicks hard against his side where he’s curled on the ground.

Distantly Eddie registers a teacher trying to break the fight up. 

But he can’t process it, can’t process anything because all once it’s too much. 

Eddie gasps. 

Gasps again.

Suddenly forgetting how to breathe. 

Hands curled tight against his sides and- 

_ Fuck  _ -

He’s going to fucking die here.

In a school hallway, not a fucking sewer, he’s - 

“He’s having an asthma attack, jackass.” 

One voice somehow cuts through the fog. 

He hadn’t even realized that they stopped hitting him until  _ that  _ voice is there.

Until there’s hands that are always just a little too warm uncurling his fists, and pressing the familiar plastic inhaler into his hands.

And when Eddie opens his eyes he’s not in a nightmarish hell any longer, not getting beaten while he was down. 

When he opens his eyes, Richie is there, concern on his features, reminding him to, “Breathe.” 

  
  
  


4

Richie is too close.

Too fucking close. 

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Eddie says, though he makes no actual effort to push Richie out of the bed. 

When Richie shrugs Eddie can feel the bed sheets shifting. 

_ Too close _ .

He wonders if Richie can hear it, the way Eddie’s heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. Too loud in the otherwise silent bedroom.

His bedroom. 

His second story bedroom.

That Richie had somehow managed to sneak into.

It’s not the first time he’s done this.

Probably not the last.

But why now does his heart seem to understand this? 

Why does his breath seem trapped in his chest? 

Why - 

“Why are you here?” 

“Ouch, Eds.” 

He knows the hurt tone Richie’s using is meant to be teasing, that it shouldn’t make Eddie feel bad, but he does, just a little, shifting closer (even if his brain still seems to be repeating a mantra of  _ too close _ ) to Richie, so that he knows no harm was meant. 

They’re both silent for a moment.

Nothing more than the sound of the two of them breathing and the sounds of the night outside Eddie’s now open window between them. 

It’s so long that Eddie thinks Richie might have fallen asleep. 

So long that Eddie almost convinces himself that falling asleep wouldn’t be the worst thing ever.

But Richie breaks the silence, voice so small that he doesn’t even sound like himself anymore. “I had a nightmare…” 

He had thought the nightmares were over. 

That he had survived the worst. 

But they were never going to be over.

Something that they were all coming to accept, slowly and with time.

“So, you walked all the way here in the middle of the night,” Eddie asks. 

It’s meant to be teasing a little, to avoid the hurtful truth of it all, but Richie’s laugh it small and bitter, and when his hand curls tight against Eddie’s sleepshirt, Eddie lets him. 

No longer concerned about how they’re  _ too close _ . 

“It’s okay,” he admits, there in the dead of the night, the only place he still can, “I have them too.” 

  
  


5

“You’re  _ leaving _ .” 

“I don’t have a choice.” 

Eddie knows that.

Knows that if Richie had a choice that he wouldn’t leave.

But he had kept the secret of his family’s move quiet for so long, until Eddie saw the for sale sign outside of his house. A small part of Eddie can’t help but wonder if Richie would have kept the secret longer if none of them had stopped by his place and seen the sign.

If they might never have known until he was gone and- 

Disappeared, suddenly - 

Just like - 

“Hey, Eds, breathe.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie hisses out, grabbing his inhaler out of his pocket.

He doesn’t need it, but the familiar actions ground him, bring him back to the present. 

To the fact that Richie is leaving. 

“It’s not like you even care,” Eddie says, knowing the words aren’t true. 

Knowing that they’re going to hurt. 

He doesn’t feel satisfied in the slightest when Richie flinches back from him, the hand he had held up to help suddenly pulled back, a tight and uncomfortable look on his face. 

“You don’t mean that,” Richie insists. 

He doesn’t. 

Of course not. 

He’s just being mean.

Because being mean is easier than dealing with the truth of his feelings.

Feelings that he shouldn’t have for Richie.

Feelings that he never should have had. 

Maybe this was better. 

Richie moving away. 

Maybe after this Eddie could go back to  _ normal _ , wouldn’t harbor those kinds of thoughts about his best friend. 

“You’re leaving.” 

“I’ll write. I promise,” Richie insists. “Portland isn’t that far away.” 

“It’s the other side of the fucking state, Rich, I’ll never see you again.” 

But he doesn’t write. 

And Eddie learns to stop holding his breath with hope every time the mail comes in. 

  
  
  


+1

He’s been on the edge of having an anxiety attack ever since he got Mike’s call. 

His hands shaking with a nervousness that he can’t explain.

Going back to the town of a childhood home the can’t even remember. 

But he’s there sitting in the Jade, with faces that look both familiar and not familiar at all surrounding him, and somehow this feels as if the universe finally got something right. 

Like a weight has been lifted off his chest after  _ years  _ of pressing down against him, and finally, fucking finally, Eddie can breathe again. 

“So wait, Eddie, you got  _ married _ ?” 


End file.
